


climb this tower of guilt (and throw yourself off)

by y0u_idjits



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Not A Happy Ending, Suicide, ashara dayne is not a role model, gays don't survive in westeros, kind of, no beta we die like men, sailors beware, this is seriously not happy, trigger warning: suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:40:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28864194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y0u_idjits/pseuds/y0u_idjits
Summary: It causes a light feeling within, something playful and warm that makes her want to forget about Joffrey, the crown, the kingdom, all of it, and centre on the girl in front of her. The girl who puts so much trust in her, who confides in her, who feels safe with her.The guilt claws its way to her throat.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	climb this tower of guilt (and throw yourself off)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: suicide  
> Please pay attention to the tags
> 
> Heavy angst, sailors beware

Margaery sits in her carriage on the way to King’s Landing and declares to her grandmother, “Sansa Stark will not be an issue; by all accounts she is a frail, weeping thing. She is no match for me.”

Olenna Tyrell eyes her approvingly, but cautions her all the same. “One must always keep an eye out for the wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she says. 

“She is a girl, where I am a woman,” she laughs. “The king will not be able to resist me.”

Her grandmother hums, looking out the window. “Lyanna Stark was just a girl, yet thousands died in her name.”

● ● ●

Margaery watches the Stark girl, measuring and taking note, keeping her distance and viewing her from all angles. She is but a few years younger than Margaery herself, but her eyes hold a pain that Margaery cannot understand. Whispers follow Sansa around the keep, of her traitor’s blood and the echoes of her screams at her father’s death and the way the king’s eyes are always tracking her.

It is hard to reach out with friendship when Margaery knows that she seeks to use the girl as abominably as the Lannisters have. She should be a child still, eyes wide and innocent and holding none of the hurt that they do. (Privately, Margaery wants to steal a horse and run away in the dark night to bring Sansa back North to her brother and family, but she is a piece in this game, unaware of the power she holds.)

Margaery fixes her smile in place, whispers in Sansa’s ear, and tries not to pay attention to the churning feeling in her stomach.

● ● ●

Margaery enters the room with a bright smile, sweeping past the guard on the door. She stops dead in her tracks when she looks towards the balcony, seeing Sansa leaning over the edge.

“Sansa?” she calls cautiously. The girl in question steps back, sighing deeply, before turning to face Margaery, eyes as blue as the sea beyond the balcony.

“Yes, Lady Margaery?” The smile is as polite as it always is, so demure and practiced; it suddenly makes Margaery feel cold, like she’s been presented with something unpleasant but she doesn’t yet know what.

“Whatever were you doing out there?” she asks, eyes trained on Sansa’s face. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the edge, for fear that you fall.”

Sansa’s smile becomes sweeter, more genuine, as she looks to Margaery. “I was looking at the sea,” she says, biting her lip. “I have never been on a boat before, and I should so dearly love to.”

“It would be quite exciting,” Margaery smiles in agreement, taking Sansa’s arm and leading her to the door. “Perhaps we could take a trip one day.”

They leave the room, heading for the gardens, but not before Margaery looks back at the balcony once more.

● ● ●

Her gaze on Sansa becomes sharper, more attentive, as the days go by. Loras notices and she has no answer when he asks her why. Sansa is as placid as ever, armoured by her courtesy and polite words. 

Sansa’s gaze is always fixed on the sea when it is in sight, and Margaery can’t tell why this causes her so much unease. She finds herself wanting to distract Sansa, to dig out those true smiles, which grow ever rarer.

She sometimes catches Sansa looking at her, though, in a way she doesn’t recognise, not really. She’s been the object of lust, adoration, and worship by many people, but she has never been the focus of such tenderness as exists in Sansa’s eyes. It causes a light feeling within, something playful and warm that makes her want to forget about Joffrey, the crown, the kingdom,  _ all of it _ , and centre on the girl in front of her. The girl who puts so much trust in her, who confides in her, who feels  _ safe _ with her.

The guilt claws its way to her throat.

● ● ●

They sit in the gardens, alone among the roses. A light breeze sweeps through Sansa’s hair, catching it gently, and the sun shines down over closed eyelids. 

Margaery takes the chance to gaze openly without fear of being caught. Her eyes sweep over smooth cheeks, dotted with pale freckles, to the long line of Sansa’s nose, to pursed lips and up to fluttering eyelashes. She wants to reach out and touch, wants to  _ taste _ because she’s sure nothing would taste as sweet as those lips.

Opening those sea-blue eyes with a heavy sigh, Sansa looks over and gives her a small smile. “I wish the weather was cooler, for I’m not used to this heat.”

Margaery laughs, “How is it that you are not yet accustomed to the southern climate? I fear that you have not yet experienced true heat; it has been much hotter at Highgarden.”

Sansa looks alarmed, before smiling. “I suppose you are used to it, though; I would much prefer a light snow at this moment.”

“Snow?” Margaery goggled. “How odd you are Sansa! Here you sit in such fine weather and you wish for the cold; I do not understand how you think.”

She receives a wan smile and silence in reply and curses herself for missing it. For missing Sansa reaching out about her home, about what she really wants rather than what she’s supposed to. 

“Well go on then,” Margaery says with a grin, giving Sansa a little nudge, “tell me all about the Northern snows.”

The smile she receives stars in her dreams for weeks.

● ● ●

“You spend a considerable amount of time with the Stark girl,” her grandmother says when she returns. Margaery pauses, waiting for the admonishment that never comes. Her grandmother raises an eyebrow at her, her face otherwise unreadable.

“The more time I spend with her, the more she trusts me,” Margaery points out. “And that means I’ll know more about whatever Joffrey or Cersei say to her.”

Her grandmother purses her lips, looking down into her teacup. Margaery stands waiting for the inevitable censure, trying not to feel irritated.

“It would be better if you were to focus on the king,” her grandmother says finally, “so that he will be in no doubt that you are a prize to be coveted.”

“But I already meet him in the mornings and after dinner,” Margaery reminds her, a touch of anger in her voice. “That is sufficient time to keep him interested and persuade him towards me.”

Her grandmother looks up at her and sighs, setting her tea cup aside. She holds out her hands for Margaery to take, holding tightly as she says, “I do not wish for you to spend a second more with that monster than is necessary, but I also do not wish for you to be hurt by your desires.”

Margaery blinks, a sense of panic rising in her as she pulls her hands away. “I do not understand your meaning -”

“You understand me perfectly well, child,” her grandmother snaps, “and I will not watch you have your heart broken by a girl who is not, and can never be, yours.” 

Staring wordlessly, Margaery feels a sting in her eyes. Her grandmother sighs. “I’m sorry, my girl, but you know I speak the truth. She is not worth the heartache.”

Margaery nods, hands stiff by her sides. She turns and leaves without another word, walking to her bedroom. Shutting the door softly, she goes and sits on her bed, hands gripping the sheets. 

She stares out her window at the blue sea and lets her tears fall.

● ● ●

The next morning, the marriage between Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister is announced to mocking laughter and scornful jokes. Margaery looks towards the bride-to-be and sees a blank face and empty eyes. 

There is guilt on her tongue.

● ● ●

The day before the wedding, Margaery visits Sansa in her rooms. There is no answer when she knocks, but she opens the door and slips in anyway, and sees Sansa on the balcony, like all those weeks ago. 

She walks towards her, joining her as she gazes out at the sea. Sansa shows no sign of being startled.

“Do you come to wish me well, Lady Margaery?”

“I…” Margaery swallows. “I came to see if you might join me in the gardens for a walk, since it is a fine day.”

Sansa doesn’t look at her. “I find that I do not know what to make of your company, Lady Margaery. One day I am your closest companion, and the next I am the object of ridicule of you and the king. I am not sure how one should act in a situation such as ours.”

Margaery stares, reaching out to take Sansa’s hand. “I swear, Sansa, I did not know they would marry you to the Imp. If I had, I would have made Loras carry you away in the night to Highgarden-”

“-where I would be a Tyrell pawn rather than a Lannister one?”

Sansa turns to look at her then, eyes storming and furious. “Oh yes, I’ve been told about my value. The key to the North, a way of controlling my family.” She scoffs, tugging her hand away. “You’re all as bad as each other.”

Margaery feels her heart breaking all over again, but how can she defend herself when her guilt is spilling out in her tears? 

“I never meant to hurt you, Sansa,” she whispers, “I only wanted to keep you safe. I would have done anything to stop them if I knew this is what they planned to do.”

Sansa eyes her, derisive and hurt, before turning to face her fully. “You were the one person I wanted to believe wouldn’t hurt me.” She steps closer. “I knew I could never truly trust you, though.”

She leans in, capturing Margaery with a soft press of her lips. Margaery freezes, heart threatening to escape her chest, until Sansa starts to pull away and she chases the gentle kiss with a remorseful one of her own. Her hand comes up to cup Sansa’s cheek, cradling her face with all the adoration she can afford to show. She pulls away, resting her forehead against Sansa’s. 

“Tell me why you stand so close to the edge,” Margaery begs. “Please, Sansa, tell me.”

Sansa’s eyes are closed when she answers. “It reminds me of Ashara Dayne.” Her eyes fly open, and she stares coolly at Margaery. “Do not fear that I too shall be taken by grief; my brother and mother will come for me yet, and save me from this place.”

With that, she leaves Margaery alone on the balcony with a deep fear and tingling lips.

● ● ●

The wedding is an ordeal, and later, in the privacy of her own chambers, Margaery drinks until she doesn’t hurt anymore.

● ● ●

As soon as she hears the news from the Twins, about the horror and violence of the Red Wedding, she is running towards Sansa’s chambers. Loras shouts after her and follows but she won’t stop for anything. She takes the stairs two at a time, uncaring of how the guards and servants stare at her. 

She’s panting desperately by the time she reaches the rooms, going straight for the handle, only to find it won’t move.

“Sansa!” she shouts, banging her fist on the door. “Sansa, please!”

Loras is pulling her away, a guard helping him against her struggles, as she yells and kicks and screams. Another guard is trying to kick the door down, grunting as it refuses to budge. She can feel the tears on her cheeks as she hiccups and tries to breathe. A mighty crack comes from the door; she tears herself away as it falls to the floor and rushes into the room to see the empty balcony. 

“ _ Sansa! _ ”

There is an agonizing pain in chest unlike anything she has ever felt before, and she feels her knees hit the floor. She can hear an awful wailing sound, deep and raw and excruciating, that she thinks might be coming from her, but it is not loud enough to drown out the distant shouts from below.

She feels Loras wrap his arms around her, holding her close to his chest as she sobs and weeps and howls. Her guilt and pain is suffocating her, threatening to crush her heart, and she knows now that this might be the end of her. 

She sees the blue sea through her tears and knows that she will never love again.


End file.
